


Spring

by Sp00py



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Casual Sex, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, handjobs, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: With the Joxter you could expect anything to happen.





	Spring

This was an unexpected situation, but the Joxter had nice paws, and his whiskers tickled Snufkin’s thighs as he licked at him. Snufkin ran his fingers through the Joxter’s hair, the bars of the prison cell cold on his back and a sharp contrast to the heat between his legs. The Joxter’s hat had fallen off, leaving Snufkin to contemplate the greys laced through and the way it feathered up all at the edges from wearing his hat for so long. Snufkin’s did the same thing, though, instead of grey, his hair was full of coppery reds from his mother. He thought of when he asked Moominpappa if the Joxter liked the Mymble more than him and blushed. This was almost certainly something done with people you liked very much.

Neither had intended for it to turn out like this, but sometimes things just happened. People had different ideas of fun, and Snufkin was always open to new experiences. Ultimately, it was neither a harmful nor a beneficial thing, just something society said not to do, so, of course, they did it. The fact that the Joxter was his pappa, and Snufkin was the Joxter's son, and they both knew this fact very well, only made it more exciting.

A small, pleased sigh escaped Snufkin as the Joxter sat back. He pulled Snufkin’s coat down and rested his head against his thigh, looking up at him with his clear, clear eyes.

“We should get out,” Snufkin said once his heartbeat had leveled out. The fact that the inspector could have walked in at any moment had made him tingle from his head to his toes. He had never thought to do bad within a cell before.

“But why? We’ve got a bed, blankets, food.”

“It’s _jail_.”

The Joxter nuzzled his leg. “You say jail, I say free room and board. We can escape tomorrow.”

Snufkin shooed the Joxter away to pull his pants up. “What does one do to pass the time until tomorrow?”

“Sleep. Screw. Eat,” the Joxter said with a shrug. “Not every day has to be spent roughing it, dear. And since we’ve already done the other two… Come, lay down with me.” At Snufkin's quizzical look, the Joxter just laughed and slunk away to the bed. He pulled the blankets and thin mattress off, then arranged and shoved at them beneath the bed frame until he was satisfied. He waved Snufkin over and crawled in after him.

After a moment’s twisting and settling, Snufkin was pressed between the mattress shoved partially against the wall, shielding him from the sweating cement, and the Joxter. It was stifling at first, almost terrifying how closed in he felt, but then the Joxter was stroking his face and throat, pulling his attention to him. He smelled like tobacco smoke and a sharp sort of unwashed, natural scent.

“Don’t you feel cozy and protected?” the Joxter purred, easing Snufkin down from his brief spike of panic. “Nothing can get to you, you’re nice and safe. I'll keep you safe.”

“Safe,” Snufkin echoed. It was darker here, with only the light from the hall filtering through both the prison bars and the metal slats of the bed frame. The Joxter had placed himself between Snufkin and any dangers. Snufkin had no real nesting instinct, not like Moomin with his house-building or Snorkmaiden with her homemaking, but the Joxter seemed to. “A nest,” he murmured, accepting the Joxter’s words.

“Exactly. Our little nest for a Mumrikmamma and Mumrikpappa.”

“Which is which?” Snufkin asked as the Joxter tangled their legs and found the best place for his arms around Snufkin.

“I don’t care. Whichever you’d like.”

Snufkin didn’t particularly care, either. He tucked his head up underneath the Joxter’s chin, against the thick, soft fabric of his scarf, and closed his eyes. He fell asleep faster than he expected due to the newness of the situation, but it really was comforting and cozy, in a way he’d never experienced but felt he'd lacked somewhere in the distant past.

He woke up begrudgingly to a racket just outside the cell. The cell was bathed in a diffused, predawn glow, and the inspector was wailing on the bars with his nightstick. The Joxter seemed to still be asleep, except for the large grin on his face as he refused to respond to the inspector’s demands they come out.

“He’ll come into the cell, and we can leave out the door,” the Joxter murmured when he felt Snufkin shifting in his arms.

“And if he just goes away?” Snufkin asked, hiding his face against the Joxter so as not to give away their ruse.

“We enjoy ourselves a little longer, _then_ leave.” To show how he planned to enjoy himself, the Joxter twitched his hips against Snufkin, who felt something firm pressing into his thigh.

“Joxter.”

The Joxter snorted at Snufkin’s disapproving tone, and whispered, “It’s just natural, but this time I have a nice Snufkin to lend a paw, or mouth, or --”

His words were cut off by Snufkin’s paw rubbing at him through his coat. He had to swallow the moan he wanted to let out, and he suspected that was Snufkin’s plan. The instinct to cause trouble.

“ _Snufkin_.”

Snufkin let out a small, fake snore and squeezed the Joxter.

“Wake up in there!” the inspector yelled, rattling the doors. “You’re to sleep _on_ the beds, not under them. One to a bed!”

The Joxter jerked his hips against Snufkin’s small, warm paw.

“Pappa,” Snufkin whispered, and the Joxter bit his own tongue to keep from responding. Snufkin lacked experience, but his fingers were talented, and he played dirty.

The inspector fell silent -- so the Joxter had to be even more so -- then he banged on the bars again. “When I come back, you better be on the beds!” he said, before the slap of his large, Hemulen feet on the cement retreated, and a door locked.

“Oh thank goodness,” the Joxter groaned as soon as they were alone. He pulled away from Snufkin just enough to pull his coat up and fumble to free himself from his trousers. Snufkin seemed disinclined to take off his own clothes, which made things rather trickier. The Joxter bumped up against Snufkin’s paw, trying to get between his legs, and made a questioning grunt.

“I’ve never, uh…” Snufkin trailed off. “Never had anything more than your tongue…”

It took a moment for the Joxter to realize what Snufkin was implying, and he huffed. It settled nice and tight in his belly to think he was such an influence. “Shit. You’re a _virgin_? You don’t take after your mother at all, do you?”

“Don’t cuss,” Snufkin said, brushing away the little bug that had fallen out of the Joxter’s mouth. It skittered away to go harass some poor soul elsewhere. “And I don’t really _like_ people.”

The Joxter nuzzled Snufkin, sensing he was getting a little flustered. He hoped Snufkin learned that he didn't have to be knowledgeable or worldly like others expected. The Joxter liked him just as he was. "I took a while, too. Never saw much need until I met the Mymble,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything. Just relax.”

Snufkin nodded, and the Joxter rubbed up against him like a cat in heat. Soon he was rutting against Snufkin and kissing his face and neck. Snufkin massaged him, touch inquisitive. They went at Snufkin's pace, which was slow and leisurely and shy, just how the Joxter liked it. He jerked a few more times, then pressed in close, breath a low purr.

It took a few moments for Snufkin to realize that he’d fallen asleep.

He wiped his hand on the Joxter’s trouser leg, then set about freeing himself. He shoved until the Joxter rolled away and crawled out from under the bed. It had been nice, curling up under there, until it hadn’t been, and the prison air felt refreshingly cool against his flushed skin. Snufkin freed his hat from underneath the Joxter’s head and went to the prison cell door. Even if the Joxter was okay with staying another day or five, Snufkin wasn’t.

They couldn’t dig out, because the floors were cement, and the inspector had remembered to lock the door. Snufkin paced the cell before he jumped up to the high, small window and caught at the bars. He yanked a few times, then gave up and just hung there, thinking.

The Joxter crawled out from under the bed with a yawn and regarded Snufkin hanging from the bars with some curiosity.

“They’re very solid.”

“Oh.”

Snufkin dropped to the ground and rolled his shoulders. He leaped almost back up to the window when the Joxter began caterwauling for the inspector.

“What are you doing!” he whispered, running over to the Joxter to try to cover his mouth.

“Help! Inspector! I’m being attacked!” the Joxter yelled far too happily to be believable, easily fending off Snufkin’s paws.

The inspector burst into the hall like he’d been waiting all his life for a chance to actually _help_ someone instead of just throwing innocent Mumriks into jail.

“What’s all this now! Knock it off!” He fumbled at the cell door, almost dropping his keys in his excitement, and flung it open to pull Snufkin off of the Joxter, flinging his keys in the process.

“Put me down!” Snufkin yelled, kicking and wriggling like a wildcat.

The Joxter ran out of the open cell door. The door slammed behind him with a loud clang.

The inspector tripped on Snufkin trying to get to it. Snufkin scrambled over him and got there first.

He yanked on the bars as the Joxter pulled right back, letting his sturdier build work in his favor keeping the door shut as he laughed.

“Pappa! What are you doing?”

“Grab his keys, dear!”

Snufkin looked around. He snatched them up from the ground. The Joxter opened the door just enough for him to slip out, and together they locked it. The Joxter threw the keys further down the hall, then gathered Snufkin up in his arms for a kiss, a proper one, deep with enthusiasm and the thrill of freedom. The inspector sputtered and cursed, and vaguely Snufkin realized he’d called the Joxter pappa right in front of him, and now the Joxter was sticking his tongue down his throat. They broke apart and the Joxter grabbed Snufkin’s paw, pulling him to the front.

Snufkin grabbed his bag, which was sitting on a table with a little sign reading ‘confiscated goods’, and they were out the door. They ran down the hill, past Fillyjonks watering their orderly gardens and Gaffies gossiping, then veered off the path into wildflower fields climbing up to dark, secretive forests shrouded in morning mists.

They stopped running when they came to a series of small, rushing waterfalls and pools swollen with the spring thaw. The sunlight filtered down green and cool, and the woods around them were quiet. Snufkin immediately felt calmer and happier, free from tidy homes and prison bars. He didn’t realize the Joxter had stopped for several steps, and circled back around.

“Are you okay?” Snufkin asked. The Joxter waved dismissively, his other paw pressed to his side as he gasped for breath. “Not used to this much running?”

“Hah...hah. It was fun, though.” The Joxter dropped to the ground and reached for Snufkin. He set his pack down and let himself be pulled into the Joxter’s lap. Snufkin wouldn’t let most people touch him like this, but the Joxter was different. Snufkin never felt he couldn’t escape, if he wanted to, even as fingers kneaded his belly and the Joxter nibbled on his neck. They existed together and enjoyed each other, but held no real obligation to one another. It was the safest thing about the Joxter.

“Did you really think I would leave you?” the Joxter purred right against Snufkin’s ear. Snufkin shivered.

“I don’t know. Would you have?”

“I like you, Snufkin,” the Joxter said instead of answering. His fingers crept along Snufkin’s coat, bunching it up. Snufkin caught his wrist before he could disappear into his pants.

“No?” the Joxter asked.

Snufkin pulled at each finger of his glove, then slipped the entire thing off and tossed it to the side. “Not with that on. I don’t know where it’s been.”

“Where hasn’t it been?” the Joxter laughed, but Snufkin wasn’t paying attention. He was studying the Joxter’s paw. Surprisingly, it was black like his glove and hard to the touch. The tips of his fingers tapered into points like burnt, exposed bone. Snufkin traced the blackness down his arm, almost to his elbow.

He didn’t ask what had happened, though, and, once his curiosity had been satisfied as to the feel, Snufkin released the Joxter’s wrist and settled back against him. He had no doubt that he wouldn’t injure him, strange and rough as his fingers were.

“I thought you never saw much need in all this,” Snufkin said a little breathlessly as the Joxter teased him gently open.

“You're quite like the Mymble, and I don’t know when next I’ll get to enjoy you. Once the novelty wears off, you don’t seem the sort to want to continue.”

Snufkin made a small sound of neither agreement nor disagreement and twisted in the Joxter’s arms so he could press his face to his neck. They were quiet as they nuzzled and kissed and explored, and once Snufkin was relaxed enough, the Joxter lay him on the mossy ground.

Soon he was buried in him, encouraging every little noise of pleasure that he could wring out of Snufkin. He was much quieter than a Mymble, enjoying himself in his own, private way, so every sound was a small victory.

When the Joxter had finished, he lay on Snufkin, idly undulating until Snufkin trembled and tightened around him. It took a few more moments for him to pull out and flop onto his side.

Eventually, Snufkin sat up. He felt all slimy and cold, fluids dripping oddly down his thighs. “I need a bath. Are you coming?”

“I already did.”

Snufkin pursed his lips as the Joxter cackled, and was about to get to his feet when the Joxter stopped him. “Let me help.” His paws trailed down Snufkin’s leg to his boot, and he slowly undid the knot and loosened the laces until the boot slipped off with ease, followed by his sock. He let his fingers trail along the underside of Snufkin’s foot and got a smothered snort and kick in the arm for his efforts. He kissed his way up Snufkin’s shin to the hem of his pants, then moved to the other boot. “I so rarely get to undress Snufkins,” he said. “You’re all so…. _Particular_.”

Snufkin pulled his feet away from the Joxter’s tickling fingers and turned his back to him. “And I suppose you’re good with anything?”

“Anything except signs and Park Keepers.” The Joxter took his time exploring Snufkin’s back as it was exposed button by button, leaving chilly tracks with his tongue over freckles and dips. Snufkin let him indulge himself from hairline to tailbone.

“What’s this?” the Joxtet asked. Snufkin made a noise. “Some sort of scar.”

“I have lots of scars.”

“This one’s round. Right here.” He poked the scar, which sat at the base of his tailbone.

“Oh, that was my tail. When I was little, a certain Park Keeper who collected orphans tried to catch me in a trap. I made it out, though. Mostly.”

“I hope you got back at him.”

“Every year.”

The Joxter rubbed the scar with his thumb. “Good,” he said, thinking of finding and paying this Park Keeper a visit himself. Trying to catch a Snufkin, the nerve! Snufkin's weren't caught, they were coaxed.

Snufkin stood up, and the coat fell away, followed by his loosened pants. The Joxter studied his pale, wiry body without comment as he climbed down into the cold water. Most people, including the Joxter, enjoyed soft, round figures, but even though Snufkin wasn’t the prettiest, he was soft inside and nice-smelling and clever in that strange, naive way of his.

He pulled out his pipe and tobacco, then settled in to smoke on Snufkin’s discarded clothing. Snufkin didn’t seem to care that he had an audience, another difference between him and the Mymble, who enjoyed giving shows that would extend her bath by at least an hour -- part of that because the Joxter would make sure she needed to take another. Snufkin was efficient and quick, cleaning his face and inner thighs, ducking under the waterfall for a quick rinse before he clambered out of the water to sit on the rocks near the Joxter and dry.

The Joxter slunk over to get him all dirty again, but Snufkin curled up into a tight, inaccessible little ball until the Joxter settled down next to him. He stretched out, and maybe there was a bit of the Mymble inclination to pose because he gave the Joxter an excellent view that, since he wasn’t allowed to touch, he raked his eyes over greedily.

The Joxter’s pipe was passed between them until Snufkin was dry enough to slink back into his ratty old clothes. The fabric smelled heavily of the Joxter.

They parted ways on the road to Moominvalley, neither asking the other to join him, content to leave things brief but enjoyable between them. The Joxter planted a kiss on Snufkin’s forehead, and, with a wave, was walking away.

Snufkin rubbed at the phantom tickling of scruff and whiskers as he descended into the valley, mulling over the Joxter now that he had some distance to do so. He didn’t often travel with others, as it was hard to explain why he did the things he did, but the Joxter already knew or didn’t care. He just _did_. And that was really it, simple and unsatisfactory others found that reasoning.

It was nice to be away from wandering paws, though. The Joxter had been right that Snufkin had enjoyed it while it was novel, but he preferred some space. With one exception.

“Snufkin!” Moomin threw himself at Snufkin, coming up just before he could collide, and took Snufkin’s paws in his own, soft white ones. “You’re back so late!”

“I ran into the Joxter.”

“Oh, how was he?”

Snufkin was quiet for a moment more. “He was fine,” he settled on. “We traveled together for a few days.”

“I’m glad you were able to visit your pappa,” Moomin said with such innocent sincerity that Snufkin had to smile. “But I’m even more glad you’re back.”

Snufkin let Moomin pull him along to Moominhouse, where he could smell Moominmamma’s cooking, and hear Snorkmaiden singing somewhere around back. Spring had come long before Snufkin, and the valley was blooming in welcome. The Joxter had been fun, but he was no Moomintroll, and a prison cell nest, while comfortable, was hardly a Moominvalley. He tightened his grip on Moomin’s paw.

“I’m glad to be back, too.”


End file.
